


The Devil's Own

by Lidsworth



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: Abusive Family, Drinking problems, M/M, Other, Two Shot, mikhail centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 00:42:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1838095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lidsworth/pseuds/Lidsworth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikhail reminisces on his life, his hopelessness of God, and his eventual acceptance of his own personal Devil. His Uncle. Through his senseless thoughts, he realizes that he is indeed a very lonely, very miserable man. Perhaps a visit to China in search of a certain somebody could lift his spirits? Or perhaps it could do the exact opposite.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil's Own

**Author's Note:**

> I took this down a while ago, but decided to put it back up. I hope you enjoy it.

They found Yuri,  _alive,_ but barely breathing. After the beating he'd taken from vicious waves, his only chance of survival was a strategic surgery. The outcome balanced atop of a needle point. It could go anyway.

With little consideration, Mikhail had given his team of private doctors the okay to perform the procedure, and now an hour later, the young Russian thought of his decision while sitting atop of a bar stool.

He thought about his decision to allow the devil to carve its way back into his own heart. He wondered what he would take this time.

Mikhail tightened his hand around the small shot of cool vodka, and took the drink quickly.

Over the years, his stomach had grown accustomed to the hard taste of the alcohol. Seldom did he require preparation, or even a tiny meal, before hand.

The burning sensation drained into his throat like waning lava. The fire remained, it burned, but it wasn't strong enough to pull him out of his thoughts.

So he took another shot, and another.

When the small intakes of vodka did not suffice, he drank straight from the bottle, anchoring the liquid in deep, slow gulps.

It burned, but it was the  _good_ kind of burn. It was the burn that Mikhail had grown so accustomed to.

The burn he yearned for.

At the same time, another scorching passion erupted throughout his body. Nights like these, when he allowed himself to think about  _himself,_ then he could feel the sensation of skin being torn and carved into, twisted and raised against is own will.

He smiled a raw leer, the mere reminiscent hurt so  _good_

The rawness of his throat returned to him, and the urge to scream throttled at full force. He could practically envision those rough calloused hands tying him to the bed, feel the weight of the world upon his shoulders as he was forced on his stomach.

This, all a result of a dirtied church outfit.

Years ago, when accidentally stepping into a mud puddle, while on his way to church, a young Mikhail had never expected his white clothing to become completely soiled. His father would never allow him to parade into the Lord's house in such an uncaring manner, so he forced his son to make the long walk back to the mansion and change.

Yuri had been waiting in the mansion, as the older man had been feeling ill and planning to attend a later service.

But apparently, Mikhail's rushed wardrobe change had rebuked the ailment that had befallen Yuri away, and the beast inside of him was aroused by his nephew's angelic beauty.

Mikhail's white attire hadn't been the only object soiled that day.

When it was over, Mikhail had been blamed by his sadistic uncle, and punished for his "sinful" ways.

The white mattress had been painted in crimson blood, as well as other bodily fluids. His alabaster skin had been littered in bruises and cuts, and he could feel a raw ache throbbing in between his tender thighs.

He could smell the pungent scent of sex. Taste the salty liquid mixed with his own siliva that trickled out of the corners of his mouth, as he was reduced to a panting heap

Mikhail had lost more than blood. He lost his sanity, his virginity, and his faith. He had lost it all to his sadistic uncle.

So he himself found it amusing when a bewildered Yuri had turned to his ravaged nephew, and struck the boy across his face for his insolent laughing.

But what idiot couldn't laugh? Mikhail had a blast at the realization of his shitty situation.

It really was ironic, the entirety of it. He had been sent away from Church, which was God's home, to his own mansion, where the Devil lay.

Perhaps God had it out from him since the very beginning? Perhaps Yuri's violation of his only nephew had baptized him into a world of scandal and sin?

Perhaps-

"Sir, would you like some water?" a concerned bartender peered over the counter, "you look out of it."

And he did, he could tell. But he didn't care.

He gave hearty chuckle and leaned over the counter with his arms, "I'm in no need of such a liquid, my friend! Something potent! Perhaps another vodka, the strongest you've got?"  
The bartender nodded, and left Mikhail with a well rehearsed, "Excellent choice, sir."

He looked into his empty bottle, and inhaled the pungent scent of the alcohol. He smiled a quirky smirk as he brought the hollow object to his lips, and tilted his head back, scavenging for at least a small drip.

Nothing, nothing but the smell, nothing but its destruction.

It would disappear soon, just as the seething hate he felt for his uncle always The addiction would be reinforced with another bottle of strong vodka, with another plate of wealth and promise, wealth that his uncle insured.

Mikhail was a sucker for power, and exactly like the Devil, his Uncle offered him all sorts of power in different ways. He would be a fool to turn it down.

The sound glass coming into contact with the wooden counter pulled him from his thoughts, and his awkward pose.

The young boy cleared his throat as he slid Mikhail his bottle, "Your Vodka, sir-"

"Care to share with me," Mikhail teased, pouring a bit into his shot, "you take how much, I don't mind."  
The bartender gave a stir at Mikhail's sudden offer, and hurried to retrieve himself a glass .

Mikhail watched him go into the back, no doubt bragging to his mates about his encounter.

The Russian smiled. He was spared the luxury of a happy childhood. After the death of his parent's, his Uncle had assured that.

Mikhail was something that Yuri's own son was not, a personal puppet. And since the day Dmitri had stormed out of the house over thirty years ago, neither Yuri nor Mikhail had seen him.

Mikhail hoped the selfish bastard was dead.

Suddenly, the boy came bouncing back into the lobby, a sheepish grin gracing his features, a small cup dangling in his hand.

Mikhail wondered what kind vices would destroy the soul before him.

Standing up, the boy poured a bit of vodka into his own bottle.

Mikhail chuckled darkly, " _Surely_ , you can down more than that, it won't hurt."

Most likely aware of the dangerous associated, the young boy showed no intention of backing down before his superior, and dared to pour himself a full glass.

Like a school boy trying to impress a girl, with faulty determination glued to his features, the boy brought the glass to his lips and chugged.

Seconds later, he was running to the back.

Mikhail suppressed a chuckle at the pitiful action. The boy was too weak.

"Never take what the devil offers you, boy," Mikhail stood up and placed a gracious amount of change on the wooden counter top, "You'll end up kicking yourself in the ass later on."

As he stood, he found a small part of him yearned for Yuri's death, yearned for the surgery to fail, or for some freak accident of nature to crush Yuri's slim chances of survival.

But the world was too cruel for those who had turned their backs on God.

His phone buzzed, and reluctantly he removed it form his pocket. A quick text from his secretary had confirmed his theory.

Yuri had survived.

But why would he not? Evil  _always_  prevailed.

If a church boy could morph into a demon because of one small accident, than a madman could be spared the clutches of death, and free to reign his terror on the world once again.

A  _frown_ graced his features, and Mikhail felt eerily similar to the church boy who had lived all those years ago.

What would he give, how far would he go, to purge his taxing kinship with  _his_ own personal devil?

Would he be willing to throw away the wealth, throw away the power and money for a droplet of freedom?

Or was he too deep into hell to see the light?

With a vile chuckle, Mikhail leaned towards the latter. He was far too gone, the flames were practically licking his body.

Sure, his personal hell had caused him a little pain, but his fiery lair offered so much more then Heaven could offer on any given day. He may have been the Devil's own puppet on the inside, bound to Yuri's rules and exhausting "restrictions", bound to a memory that demolished him for all eternity, but in exchange for his innocence, he had it all. (Well, almost all. His eyes were resting on a piece of eye candy who many knew as Fei Long)

In Mikhail's world,  _freedom_ never meant freedom anyway. It meant a false sense of security, and Mikhail would be damned if he allowed himself to contemplate on it for any longer.

He grew accustomed to the burns, he yearned to lick his own wounds.

He strove to remain in hell, because Mikhail Arbatov was the devil's own. And hell was all he knew.

While on the subject of terrible judgment, he supposed that both he, and the bustling youth, Akihito, had  _very_ much in common. They could "leave" the abyss, but freedom was a mere illusion, tempting and enticing, but nothing but a mirage.

The young photographer's heart would no doubt succumb to the darkness, to the  _greed,_ it was just a matter of time. Like any good pet, he'd crawl back to his master, Asami.

Both had their own personal Devil, taunting them, dictating their lives... _perhaps_ , Mikhail thought to himself,  _if we met another way..._

Shaking his head, he dispelled such thoughts from his brain. Friendship within the Underworld was an enemy in the making. Falling in love was an even riskier business.

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously, the visit to China occurs in the 2nd chapter, and I re-posted this, so I hope you enjoy it. Thanks! Have a wonderful week, and God bless.


End file.
